


Prologue

by BewareTheIdesOfMarchYall



Series: Dream SMP Good Omens [1]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Good Omens AU, Minor Character Death, One Shot, This is going to be part of a series, demons and angels and ranboo oh my, i had a lot of fun writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29437719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BewareTheIdesOfMarchYall/pseuds/BewareTheIdesOfMarchYall
Summary: Sixteen years before the apocalypse, three babies get dropped off on the doorstep of an orphanage.Two of them are human as human can be, while the third is prophesied to bring about the great war between heaven and hell, start the apocalypse, and just have a generally fun time.That is, if everything goes according to plan (and they don't)Otherwordly shenanigans, miscommunications, and an apocalypse on the horizon await!
Series: Dream SMP Good Omens [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2171535
Comments: 14
Kudos: 147





	Prologue

Sixteen years before the apocalypse, three babies were dropped off on the doorstep of an orphanage. Two of them were human as human can be, while the third was prophesied to bring about the great war between heaven and hell, start the apocalypse, and just have a generally fun time. 

How exactly did the antichrist get left on a doorstep on a rainy night?

**A few hours before**

Our journey starts in a graveyard, where Baby No. 1 was found. 

Now, when I say "Baby No. 1", know that I mean the great destroyer, future doom of the world, bringer of death, currently wrapped in a fluffy blue blanket in a wicker basket, etc. He glanced around at the tombstones almost judgmentally, as though to say  _ I don't think this is where one-day-old children go, but hey, I don't know enough about existence to dispute this. _

The wicker basket remained tucked away in the graveyard for a while, a few drops of rain gently falling down. Apparently, the poor weather was what Baby No. 1's escort was looking for, as he appeared as the mist began to gather. 

Wilbur Soot always had a penchant for dramatic atmosphere.

Quite a few lords of hell would call Wilbur the worst demon ever to walk the pit. 

This was absolutely untrue. Wilbur was a fairly mediocre demon that happened to be walking the pit, but certainly not the worst, putting that stupid fiddle contest bet aside. The gossip-mongers would only say things like that (and other, harsher things) because Wilbur had been one of the best fallen angels to ever swear vengeance on a broken sword. 

But it's frankly hard to keep up an emo phase for 6,000 years.

He strolled over to the basket, checked to make sure that there was still a baby in it, and waited impatiently for the thing's ride to arrive. Technically, he was supposed to be the one driving the antichrist to St. Beryl's Orphanage, but he had tickets to see Heathers that night and decided to use that most clever trick: Getting someone else to do his work instead. Still, he didn't have much trust in the guy he'd asked, and wanted to make sure that the child actually got from the graveyard to the car.

It was already five minutes past the scheduled time, and the weather was terrible, and  _ he was fine with starting the end of days, but why did he have to work overtime? At least Schlatt wasn't here to laugh at him being on babysitting duty. _

Almost on cue, a raspy laugh came from the shadows of the church in the center of the graveyard.  _ Ugh. Speak of the angel. _

Almost everyone would call JSchlatt the worst angel to ever wear a suit. 

And they would be absolutely right. He had no care for heaven, or the great war, or any sort of noble deed. The only predictable thing about him was his biting snark and the ever-present stink of cheap alcohol. When he entered a room, everyone there knew that they would soon regret not keeping him out by any means necessary, and he knew that they knew, and he enjoyed that. The greatest miracle ever performed in all of earthly and non-earthly history was that he hadn't been thrown out of heaven by his horns yet.

"Are you on babysitting duty, Wilbur?". Wilbur crossed his arms, trying and failing to hide the annoyance on his face. He could have had a cool arch-nemesis, but no. He was stuck with this dick.

"Laugh all you like, Schlatt-"

"Oh, trust me, I am."

"But once the child reaches 16, he's going to bring about the finale of this pathetic excuse for an earth.".  Okay, so maybe he wasn't  _ entirely _ rid of that emo phase. Schlatt looked at him, smug.

"Whatever you say, Soot. Hey, did the lower-downs tell you who's watching over your precious little finale?"

"I am. I'm watching over the antichrist, being a "corrupting influence" (whatever that means), that sort of thing."

"Well, my higher-ups had a similar idea. They seem to think that if the kid is nudged in the right direction, he'll start the apocalypse and fight on heaven's side. Bla bla bla, defeating Satan and/or Slimecicle, honestly I zoned out during the briefing. Long story short, they thought the kid needed a positive role model, and my name got picked.". 

The idea of "positive role model" and "Schlatt" being considered at all similar rattled Wilbur enough that it took a few seconds for the implications to sink in.

" _ Oh, no _ ."

"Oh, yes. We're going to be neighbors!"

" _ No, no, no, no- _ "

" _ Isn't this exciting? _ ". Wilbur barely restrained a scream, and only shuddered in horror. Before he could lose what was left of his sanity and discorporate anyone, a car horn beeped.  _ It's about time. _

He half walked, half sprinted over to the black car. The window cranked open, revealing a nervous foxlike face.

The general consensus was that Fundy was too mediocre of a demon to be worth any notice. 

He'd never been seen doing anything appropriately horrible or failed spectacularly, so according to most of hell he didn't exist. In truth, Fundy was about to prove tonight that he was much worse of a demon than they thought.

"Sorry I'm late, I forgot I cursed a major highway, and then I had to drive on that highway to get here, and-"

"Just take the kid.". The basket was passed to Fundy, who looked at it with fear and wonder.

Baby No. 1 didn't look like an antichrist (I mean, he was the only antichrist at this point and could only look like himself, but he didn't look like how one would expect an antichrist to look). He just looked like any one-day-old baby. Fundy tried to disguise how grateful he was about that. Maybe, just maybe, the plan could work. He looked back up to Wilbur.

"So, what was the important demonic business?"

"Hmm?"

"I mean, you said you had "important demonic business", and that's why you couldn't drive the kid yourself."

"Ah, yes. That important demonic business. Well, Fundy, that's for me to know and you to not know.". Wilbur shifted, hiding the Heathers tickets in his coat sleeve.

"Enjoy your drive!". With that, he teleported away from the graveyard. Schlatt shrugged, and continued eating protein powder out of the jar.

Fundy drove like a maniac down the highway, swerving off the road to avoid the cursed-induced traffic. He'd pulled off hundreds of scams before, but they were all on the humans. 

He'd never scammed the forces of heaven and hell simultaneously before. He was pretty sure that was called "treason". Which was punishable by death if he got caught.  _ This is the worst idea of my entire fucking existence.  _

As he sped down the road regretting his life choices, rain pouring down on the windshield, his co-conspirator teleported into the passenger seat.

"Hey, you ready to do something illegal?"

The executives in heaven had no idea what to make of Quackity. 

They could hardly call him the worst angel when there was  _ Schlatt  _ running about drunk off his ass, and he was even good at his job most of the time. Even now, the executives couldn't quite pin down a time he'd directly broken a rule. However, he had a habit of taking the rulebook, shaking it out, finding whatever loopholes existed, and using them to do whatever he pleased.

There wasn't a rule saying he  _ couldn't _ wear yeezys and sunglasses to important board meetings. 

There wasn't a rule saying that he  _ couldn't  _ try to seduce the archangels, that was implied at best. 

And there wasn't a rule saying that he couldn't get attached to the human world. The higher-ups had never considered that anyone would, so it hadn't been written down in the paperwork. 

Their mistake.

Here was the truth: Quackity didn't want the apocalypse to happen. If you spend 6,000 years in any place, how can you not care about it? Sure, humans are there and gone in the blink of an eye, but the things they make to show they were here can stay for centuries.

He knew too much history about the place to just stand back and let it get set on fire. So, he'd searched through all of heaven for a collaborator. There was no one willing to help him there, their reactions ranging from "I'd love to help, but I don't want to get hellfire poured on my face" to "If you're insinuating what I think you are, I'll turn you in to get hellfire poured on your face".

So, he took the escalator down to the basement. It took him a while to find someone, even there, but eventually he met a familiar fox-faced demon, and a plan was hatched.

Why did Fundy join in on a dangerous scheme like this one?

Attention, mostly. Humans were the only ones to really acknowledge his existence, even if it was almost all negative attention. Which was fair. He did steal their things a lot.

"Ready as I'll ever be, I guess."

"Great.". Quackity looked into the basket containing Baby No.1, breathed a sigh of relief that he looked like a normal human, and revealed a cardboard box. Inside the cardboard box was Baby No. 2, wrapped in a green blanket.

When I say "Baby No. 2", know that I mean a quiet mortal child with wisps of light blond hair, born to a regular human that didn't want him.

"I found him on the side of the road.". The two of them sat in silence for a while at that, before Fundy brought up the plan again.

"So, we drop them both at St. Beryl's."

"Yeah."

"And then they think that this kid is the antichrist, and the antichrist is the kid."

"Yeah."

"And our bosses try to raise the kid and sway them to the dark side or whatever, while we raise the antichrist and keep them from destroying the world."

"Yeah."

"Um. Quick question."

"Yeah?"

"If we're putting them both on the doorstep at the same time, how do we know they won't think the antichrist is the antichrist and the kid is the kid?"

"....I didn't think about that.”. They pondered the problem together. Eventually, Fundy conjured a sharpie and wrote " **antichrist, this side up** " on the side of the cardboard box in bold letters.

"That should work. Also, you need to stop teleporting into my car while it's moving. You could fuse with the seats, and that would suck to clean up."

Baby No. 1 and Baby No. 2 were dropped off on the doorstep of St. Beryl's Orphanage. It was harder than expected to say goodbye to Baby No. 2, but they managed. 

The duo was somewhat confused by the third baby on the doorstep, who hadn't been put there by any of them, and actually just so happened to be dropped off at the wrong orphanage at the wrong time.

Baby No. 3 was in a red blanket, and when I say "Baby No. 3", know that I mean a human child that was currently doing what he would be doing for much of his life: Screaming at the top of his lungs. 

It is assumed that he was born to humans since he was one, but the kid could have been dropped off by a galaxy for all we know. All that we need to know is that fate had not favored Baby No. 3, and that would continue for a while.

And so, three babies were dropped off on the doorstep of an orphanage, sixteen years before the apocalypse.

Quite a few people (and things that at least looked like people) were excited about this. It was supposed to be a secret that the antichrist was at St. Beryl's Orphanage, so obviously everyone from purgatory to Portland had heard the news.

The lobby was jam-packed with a few demons with extremely good disguises, far more demons with very bad disguises, a mafia-style group of angels, another mafia-style group of angels but they were pretending to be a book club for some convoluted reason, a few very lost ghosts who didn't even want to be there in the first place, the man who was going to burn the orphanage to the ground in a couple of hours, the dread Charlie Slimecicle, hassled orphanage staff, and, notably, the owners of two motorcycles in the parking lot. 

The two motorcycles were a sickly hospital white and an empty-seeming black respectively, and their riders were lowkey famous (not that they liked to brag about it or anything). Any and all apocalypse enthusiasts knew their names (or at least their titles), and once they met up with two more friends Doomsday would truly be underway.

But that party wouldn't be started for another sixteen years. For now, only two out of the set of four were gathered, and tonight was less about the apocalypse than the drama and firsthand gossip to get. They sat in the corner, watching the chaos unfold with reflective eyes.

Now, someone would eventually have to adopt these babies. The antichrist would have to grow up among the mortals, and St. Beryl's Orphanage was always more of an apocalypse creating scheme than an orphanage to begin with, so they would have to find some unwitting soul to take Baby No. 2 and Baby No. 3 soon. Thankfully for everyone involved, three humans that showed up that day ready to adopt, with varying degrees of dread.

The first was a man seemingly in his late thirties, wearing a green coat that could almost be considered a cloak.

The second was a young adult with sunglasses and an almost royal quality about them.

And the third was a sweet-looking young woman in a soft striped sweater, who clutched an ancient book tightly under her arm.

They were quickly hustled through the lobby by the head of the orphanage, who tried her best to keep anyone in the group from seeing anything odd happening around them (Which is a bit of a challenge when  _ certain demons _ think that a fake mustache from a corner store is enough to look completely non-supernatural). She rushed around from the tiny waiting room with the potential parents to the room with the babies to the stampede outside, internally wishing that she'd done what she'd planned in college and been a therapist instead of running an orphanage/doomsday cult. All of the humans in the waiting room were understandably confused, but their questions were unheeded. 

The three of them sat in silence for several minutes. When it became clear that no one would be coming to check on them, small talk was attempted. Names were learned (The first parent went by the name Philza, while the second was named Eret, and the third Niki), the weather thoroughly discussed, and finally, the conversation turned to the inevitable:

"So, why are you here?". The question was asked by Eret, who seemed genuinely curious. Phil looked down from the clock he'd been watching, annoyed.

"To adopt a child. Why else?"

"I figured  _ that _ , but what led you here? You don't have to answer if you don't want to, I'm just trying to break the silence.". Phil continued staring at the wall, preparing his words.

**Half an hour before**

_ "You want me to  _ **_what_ ** _?" _

_ Phil had been driving home when he got the call. If he really had a say in the matter, he would have sent that to voicemail in two seconds flat, but his caller wasn't the kind of person you could hang up on ("person" wasn't even accurate to him). The rain was falling down on the windshield, the traffic was abysmal, and apparently he was supposed to adopt a child.  _

_ "Listen, with all due respect, I owe you nothing anymore. I don't have to do missions for you, I don't have to kill for you, and I especially don't have to take care of a baby for sixteen years for you.". He nodded along as the other side of the call said his bit, before responding. _

_ "Sixteen years is quick? Maybe to the likes of you it's quick, for me it's actually a sizeable chunk of time! I don't care that I have to 'just keep him alive-'". He was cut off, and he waited impatiently for his chance to speak again, which he got. _

_ "You and I have gone our separate ways. Me and Technoblade are both in retirement, and there's no way in hell I'm adopting a child. That's my final word.". The voice on the other side of the call spoke how he usually did: Methodical, calm, devoid of mercy. Mentioning Techno had been a mistake, and the conversation eased into detailed and pointed threats. Finally, he gave up. _

_ "If I do this, you'll finally leave me and Techno alone?". An affirmative answer. Phil sighed, already weary of the experience. _

_ "Fine. Screw you, but fine. I'll take your stupid project." _

**Current**

Phil folded his arms, a scowl on his face.

"I'm just very paternal."

For some reason, Eret doubted that, but they nodded anyway.

"I decided I wanted to adopt a few months ago. I mean, I have the money for it, and there are so many kids without parents. I think I just wanted to do something about it, and try to give some kid a good childhood.". They laughed quietly under their breath.

"Sometimes I feel like something else put the idea in my head.". Phil and Eret looked towards Niki, expecting her to speak. She held her book close to her, fingers drumming on the cover.

"I've known for a while that I was going to adopt a baby today. St. Beryl's Orphanage, April 1st, the year I turn 19."

"How did you know?". Niki opened the book, re-reading the same familiar page.

"It's just fate."

Meanwhile, the two horsemen of the apocalypse were tired of just watching. If they stayed any longer without doing anything, this trip wouldn't be worth the motorcycle fuel. They rose from the seats in unison and slipped casually into the baby room. The head of the orphanage had been slumped against the wall, exhausted. However, when the duo entered the room, she leapt to her feet.

"Excuse me, no demons, no angels, nothing dead or dying, no refunds, no Charlie, and no one I don't want here is allowed in this room!". The one cloaked in black stepped forward, hands raised in a pacifying gesture and a kind smile on his face.

"Well, I'm none of those things! My name's BadBoyHalo, but most people are kind of formal and call me Famine.". That last bit of the sentence was accompanied by a sheepish eye roll, as though to say  _ I know it's silly, but I can't help being well-known _ .

"My friend over there is George. What's your name?". The head of the orphanage tried very hard to feel suspicious. There were two strangers in the most important room there, she should have her guard up as far as possible. Yet, for some reason, she couldn't feel any distrust for the Famine in front of her.

"My name is Puffy. Why are you here?"

"Us? We're just here for a look. Right, George?". George hadn't really been interested in the conversation, although it was hard to tell what he was thinking about behind his white sunglasses. He raised his head, looking bored.

"Yeah. Sure.". 

Puffy could see several concerning things about letting two horsemen of the apocalypse take a quick look at the antichrist, but she couldn't quite think clearly. She tried to focus on the current situation, but all she could think about was how much she wanted a good night's sleep, and a vacation, and a different life. Bad's smile remained constant, cheerful and understanding.

"Is this the job you want, Puffy?". She shook her head, eyes glassy.

"When I was a kid, I wanted to be a hero. Help out people who needed helping. I really have no idea how I got here.". Bad nodded.

"Well, Puffy, you seem tired. There's a lot of muffin-heads outside making a racket, and it seems like a lot to deal with. If you want to just go upstairs and take a quick nap, we can handle things for you!". Puffy quietly agreed and walked out of the room in a daze. Already, she could tell something was wrong, but she felt sapped of the strength to care.

As her head hit the pillow, she made a vow to herself that if she came back and the kids were harmed in any way, she'd personally bring hell to their doorsteps.

Back in the baby room:

"Bad, did you seriously hypnotize a woman so you could hold a baby?"

"Not just  _ a _ baby, George!  _ Three babies! _ "

"That makes it much better, yes.”

"You're just upset that they like me more.". Bad bounced around the babies, cooing over them.

"Who's the cutest little antichrist? Who's the tiniest omen of doom? You are!". He picked up Baby No. 2 and tapped his nose.

"Boop!". George stood there quietly.

"He's going to be mad if he finds out we came here."

"Exactly,  _ if _ he finds out. Besides, he needs us."

"I know he needs  _ me _ . You, on the other hand, are kind of on thin ice."

"Calm yourself. Hold a baby.". Bad picked up Baby No. 2 from his box, where  **antichrist: this side up** was clearly visible, and handed him to George. George held the green-blanketed baby, staring intently into his eyes. Baby No. 3 started screaming once more, and Bad ran over to pick him up and shush him.

"Aww, it's okay. You're not going to die for another 16 years, you have nothing to scream about now!". Baby No. 3 seemed to take in his words for a few seconds, before shrieking even louder. 

The door was flung open by the ominous angelic book club, who tried to shove their way to the child in George's arms. Bad sighed, exasperated, and shifted into a more monstrous form.

"Seems like I have to do some security work. Can you hold this one too?". Without waiting for an answer, he passed Baby No. 3 to George and walked out into the hallway, using his hollow iron scales to push otherworldly paparazzi aside.

After the first act of Heathers, Wilbur slipped out of the theater. It wasn't a particularly good production, and he didn't see the point in staying. He decided that if he wasn't going to do anything else, he should probably teleport to St. Beryl's and do his job.

The orphanage was even more chaotic than before, and he had to light one or two minor demons on fire to clear his way. Finally, he reached the room with the antichrist. The room was mostly empty, except for one basket in the corner, and a familiar stranger holding two babies and panicking slightly.

The stranger turned to face Wilbur, and he realized who he was speaking to. He'd never met a horseman of the apocalypse before, but he'd heard of their reputations and seen them from afar.

"Pestilence. Pleasure to meet you.". Pestilence leaned nonchalantly in the doorway with a smile, which was quite a feat for someone holding two sobbing children.

"Please, call me George."

"George. Interesting name, for someone with your position."

“What's wrong with it?"

"It's fine, your colleagues have just mostly had ridiculous names. I mean, who in their right mind names himself  _ Sapnap _ ? No offense, don't discorporate me."

"Well, relatively speaking, I'm pretty new to the job. Stick around another 500 years, and who knows what will happen?"

"With your name, or with discorporating me?"

"Both, I guess.". Wilbur checked his pocket watch (it had been broken sometime in the 1910s, and he hadn't had the time to get it fixed, but he still liked the idea of checking a pocket watch).

"Fun as this conversation is, I was thinking that I should be the one to deliver the child to his parent.". George opened his mouth, probably to say no, but the sound of the babies crying increased. He stopped, irritated, and nodded.

"Why not? It's not like I actually work here."

"Excellent. Just give me the antichrist, and I'll be out of your hair. Unless you want to meet up again after this-"

"I'm good."

"Alright.". George held Baby No. 2 and Baby No. 3 side by side, as if weighing them. He titled his head from the child wrapped in a green blanket to the child wrapped in a red blanket. Finally, he handed the one in red to Wilbur.

"I'm pretty sure this is the antichrist. I'm a bit colorblind.". The sentence was accompanied by an airy laugh and a small grin, and Wilbur smiled back before leaving the room with Baby No. 3.

Phil was going to murder him. The guy couldn't die, but he was going to murder him anyway. Of all the petty things, he had to threaten Philza and his loved ones just for him to sit in a room for hours for absolutely no reason. 

_ Was this that creature's sick idea of a prank? _

Five seconds before he was going to storm out, agreement be damned, there was a polite knock on the door. He got up to open it, and Baby No. 3 lay on the floor, silent and peacefully sleeping for the first time in his short existence. Phil shrugged, deciding not to question it.

He gently picked the baby up from the ground, and headed home. 

(If he'd been looking more intently, he would have noticed 1) A certain demon sitting cross-legged on the ceiling, having decided that he probably shouldn't come face to face with someone he was supposed to spy on, and 2) His closest friend hiding behind a newspaper in the lobby, ready for some good old fashioned arson).

Anyway, once the antichrist was safely adopted (or so they thought), all that was left was to find a place to put all of these bonus babies. George picked up Baby No. 1 and Baby No. 2, and headed for the waiting room, where Eret and Niki regarded each other as friends already.

Unfortunately, Quackity decided that he had some meddling left in him for the evening, and he decided to make sure everything was going according to plan. He teleported into the orphanage seamlessly, folding his wings into his coat and looking over his sunglasses.

George strolled into the waiting room.

"Pick a child, any child. I don't have all day.". Eret tilted their head in confusion.

"Isn't there paperwork, or an application process, or something official we're supposed to-"

" _ Do you want the kid or not? _ ". Niki reached for Baby No. 2, and Eret shrugged and took Baby No. 1.

Quackity watched the process take place through the keyhole. This seemed alright. They both seemed like non-horrible humans, and he'd be fine watching over either of them for the 16 years. 

Then, he noticed the book under the young woman's arm. 

_ The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. First edition, which should be impossible, unless she's some kind of descendant. And I'm not dealing with lying to a witch.  _

He tried to remember which kid was the actual antichrist and which was the fraud.

_ T _ _ he green one and the blue one were both important. The blue one was the fake, and the green one was the real deal, right? Or was the green one the fake, and the blue one fake? Wasn't there a red one at one point? Fuck. _

At the last moment, Quackity decided that he couldn't just stand still and risk it. He did the first thing that came to mind and killed the lights. The lightbulbs exploded, leaving everyone in darkness. In the chaos, he telekinetically switched the babies. 

_ Alright. No witches today, thanks. I'll just follow the other one home from afar, and everything will be fine. _

Later that night, when the orphanage was almost empty, a man set his newspaper aside and crept through the building. 

He lit Molotov cocktails with precision and chucked them wherever a fireball seemed needed. Flames weren't his usual method of destruction, but he had to get creative sometimes. 

His plan had been slowed down by Phil showing up at this "orphanage", but once he left the game was back on.

If anyone wanted to start the apocalypse and take away everything the two of them had worked for, they'd have to go through Technoblade.

The entire building was consumed and burnt to the ground. The arson case would remain unsolved, like most of his work, and Techno hadn't seen any potential casualties that would make people want to investigate. 

Sadly, there was one person left in the building when it burned, and she couldn't wake up from her dreams of the sea and a sword in her hands to smell the smoke.

Wilbur followed Philza home unnoticed, disguised as wisps of shadow and cigarette ash. In lieu of a cradle, Phil temporarily arranged a drawer as a bed for Baby No. 3 and set him down. Once the baby seemed safe and calm, he left to collapse on the couch. 

Wilbur frowned.  _ Where's his name? _ Names were important. They could be bargained with, broken, foretell fate, and be used as a lifeline if need be.  _ You didn't just leave a child without a name. _

This had to be remedied. He conjured a post-it note and a pen, and snuck over to the drawer considering the merits of different names.  _ Kraken? Should I name him Kraken? No, he doesn't seem like a Kraken.  _ The child stirred once, yawning, bright blue eyes nearly opening.

_ His name is Tommy. _

The realization hit Wilbur all at once. Tommy wasn't a particularly demonic name, but it just felt too right to pick anything else. So, he wrote "Tommy" on the post-it note and stuck it on the blanket, hoping that Phil would think it had been there the whole time. 

The baby grabbed his finger as he pulled back his hand, not letting go. Wilbur's heart wasn't melted at all. Not a bit.

"I'm going to need that back, Tommy.". Carefully, he took his finger out of the tiny hand's grasp.

"It's very nice to meet you. My name's Wilbur. I'm your guardian, Tommy, and you're going to burn down the world one day."

At the same time, Quackity followed Eret back to their home (although mansion might be more accurate. Was the chandelier  _ really _ necessary?). 

They'd been planning for this for months, and anything that Quackity could worry about had already been taken care of five minutes ago. Baby No. 2 was even named quickly and with care.

The angel breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing evil could be named "Tubbo", right? 

Eret disappeared to a nearby room, allowing Quackity the chance to formally meet him and Fundy's charge. He teleported down to the cradle and contemplated the kid.

"Hey, I know that this has been a long day, but I'm Quackity. Me and my friend are going to be looking after you for a few years, because Tubbo? It's up to you to save the world. Good luck."

At the same time, Niki went back to her home. The rain finally stopped, and she put the Nice and Accurate Prophecies back on the shelf to hold Baby No. 1, the real prophesied end of days. 

_ I don't know if I'm ready for this. I don't know anything about being a mother, or stopping the apocalypse, but I'm expected to do both. _

The child opened his eyes. They were the one usual thing about an otherwise average baby: One eye was a fiery red, while one was a leafy green. They vaguely reminded Niki of a forest fire.

She set up the cradle and cast various charms, determined to get this right. She was so focused on protecting her son (for he was her son, now) that she didn't notice a skeletal green hand reach out of the shadows for her book and cut out select pages and phrases with a knife of bone. 

Niki gently put her child down, already full of intense care for him.

_ You're going to be okay. I don't know about heaven or hell or any of those idiots, but I can promise you one thing, Ranboo: I'll make sure you're safe. I swear it. _

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first part of a series, hope you enjoyed!


End file.
